


This Love

by kittywampus



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Happy Ending, M/M, Reminiscing, heyy umm IM BACK, he’s happy, its brief, mention of Svetlana and Yevgeny, mentions of that s3 scene, pretty much just a trip down memory lane, this is short but it was so fun to write
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:47:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28161906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittywampus/pseuds/kittywampus
Summary: Mickey’s finally happy. He takes a trip down memory lane.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Comments: 10
Kudos: 84





	This Love

**Author's Note:**

> UMM HI! I know you haven’t heard from me in a while (sorry) but I’m back! This is a quick lil thing that was super fun to write. I’m working on a new chapter of Black & Yellow as well! Enjoy this for now!

Mickey wishes he could talk to his former self.  
  
That scared little boy that was (rightfully) terrified of his father, and helplessly falling head over heels in love with Ian Gallagher. He thinks back to how he never thought any of this would be possible. Laying in bed next to his husband, that very same Ian Gallagher, who was snoring on his shoulder, after all the bullshit through the years.  
  
Cat and mouse, shitty communication and _so much_ sacrifice. Their communication still isn’t necessarily stellar, they talked a lot with their fists. And, well, when you grow up how they did, there wasn’t much else to do besides that. But they were trying, and Mickey honestly couldn’t be happier.  
  
Happiness. What a fucking whirlwind. It’s something Mickey never saw for himself, probably because he only saw happiness in Ian. It probably wasn’t healthy, putting all of his _happiness_ eggs in the same _Ian_ basket, but he couldn’t help it. He was _gone_ for Ian, plain and simple. It took him years to admit, even if he knew it all along. And through all the heartbreak and bullshit they put each other through, Mickey wouldn’t change anything. Not a single damn thing.

He remembers back when they were just kids— fuck, they must’ve been.. what? Fourteen and fifteen? It feels like ages ago. It _was_ ages ago. He never thought he would be happy. He lived in fear every day of his father, try as he might to be a good son. He felt like a chump for it. Always putting himself on the line for that asshole. Deep down he knew it was some form of daddy issues, always wanting to be the son Terry wanted, be a good kid his pop would be proud of, but shit didn’t play out that way. What the fuck ever, though, because he was happy now, Terry be damned.  
  
He sees the timeline in his head. He remembers how their first time meeting formally was when he tried to kill Ian. Sue him, he was trying to be a good brother. His heart gives a pang for his sister, hoping that wherever she is, she’s alright. He smiles, remembering that bug eyed, scrawny ginger nerd storming into the Milkovich house looking for the gun he stole. Honestly, teenage Ian Gallagher was one brave motherfucker for doing that.  
  
He remembers their first time. He cringes at the thought. He doesn’t remember it that well, but he does remember how it made him feel. Confused, whole, scared. It should’ve been a quickie, just a one time spur of the moment thing, but Ian was a persistent little bastard. _Good thing_ , Mickey thinks to himself, glancing at the ring on his finger.

He remembers telling Ian the biggest lie he’d ever told anyone.

_“You’re nothing but a warm mouth to me.”_

Mickey was scared, just a scared little boy petrified of his dad and he wasn’t wrong not to trust Frank. Scared kids to scaredy things, he thinks to himself.

He remembers their first kiss. Ian was a little shit back then, maybe even more so now.

_“Dunno what you see in that geriatric viagroid.”_

_“He isn’t afraid to kiss me.”_

He still feels that rush in his chest, that thrill of a challenge. Mickey never backed away from a challenge, ever. Even if back then he had his ‘no kissing’ hangup, it wasn’t like he didn’t think about it. Ian was pretty and Mickey was a little bitch for him, even if he pretended he wasn’t. Running back to that van and planting a very practiced kiss to Ian’s mouth still made him smirk.

As repressed as he was, he caught feelings early on. He knows that. He thinks he fell in love with him somewhere around that time. He knows Ian did too, he was way more obvious about it, and the thought makes him smile. He remembers trying to push the feelings down, push Ian away, but Ian burrowed under his skin. Stayed there. Never left, even in the bad times. Not even when he thought things were done for good.

And, shit, there were bad times. He tries not to think of Svetlana and Yevgeny. He’s made sense of it in his head, made peace with it. They were better off without him, hard as that pill was to swallow.

There’s still a wound under his skin, a nasty scar that sits under the surface. Terry was a psychopath, and what he did to them was something Mickey wishes would turn into a suppressed memory. He remembers it vividly, almost feels his eye socket ache from the pistol whipping he got. Remembers the look on Ian’s face, Terry making him watch. He shivers.  
  
Honestly, he didn’t blame Svetlana. Sure, he projected a lot of his anger onto her, but he knew it wasn’t her fault. She wasn’t necessarily innocent either, but she did what she had to do to survive. They all did. What else could she have done? If she refused Terry would’ve just turned the gun on her and called some other Russian. He’s made peace with it, although his chest aches when he thinks about Yevgeny for too long. They’re good. He asked Veronica about her a while ago, she looked a little upset but said she got a sugar daddy or something, and that her and Yevgeny were taken care of. It’s better this way.

He remembers when he came out. It wasn’t pretty. He wasn’t ready. But it felt good. It felt good to finally stick it to his dad, scream it in the Alibi for everyone to hear. It was some kind of poetic release, handcuffed and bent over the hood of a cop car, screaming at his dad how gay he was. Terry Milkovich raised a _homo_ , bitch.

_“Fuck you don’t worry about it! I’ve been staying at Ian’s since you’ve been in the can, bitch! Guess what we’ve been doin’ daddy?! We’ve been fucking!”_

He remembered the unbridled joy he felt screaming at his dad, not only did Terry Milkovich raise a _homo_ , he raised a _bottom_.

_“And I take it! He gives it to me good and hard and I fucking like it! I suck his dick and I fucking love it!”_

Coming out that way was certainly not ideal, but Ian gave him the ultimatum. Be free or lose him. Mickey couldn’t stand the thought. It physically pained him to think about his world without Ian in it. So he did it. He fucking did it.

He remembers when it all began to fall apart, the first time. Mickey remembers trying to convince himself he could love Ian hard enough to treat his bipolar, that he didn’t need anyone else. He didn’t blame Ian for cheating on him. He still doesn’t. That doesn’t mean it didn’t _hurt_ , but he knew better than to judge him for that. It was the final straw though, and Mickey’s heart aches a little remembering how it all went down. Ian loved Yevgeny, maybe he still does. He’s not ready to talk about that yet though, doesn’t wanna open their wounds. It’s a bad habit, repressing their shit.

He gets lost in the memory, remembering when they finally found Ian and Yev, the sheer relief he felt. Taking Ian to the hospital and leaving him there was the second worst pain he’d ever felt. He felt hopeless, and Mickey’s psyche didn’t handle that too well.

The worst pain he’d ever felt was Ian breaking up with him. It still echoes in his chest, the agony of it. And that dumbass has done it more than once, the fucker. He knew he was a Milkovich, and Milkoviches had a reputation for being scum of the earth but _dammit_ , he wanted to be free from that narrative. To be his own person and not be pegged as just a _Milkovich_ for the rest of his life. To show Ian that he could be different, that _they_ could be different.

He remembers questioning his entire life up until that point. Feeling like deep down he always _knew_ he wasn’t good enough for Ian, like it was an inevitability that he’d end up caring too much, giving himself to Ian completely and have it all squandered because _he just loved him too much_.

Being in jail and never having Ian visit came in close second. He waited every day, _every damn day_ like some bitch, a damsel in distress locked in a tower, waiting for Ian to finally come back. He remembers thinking to himself, repeating the lie Ian had told him.

“ _Yeah, Mick. I’ll wait_.”

He hated he reached a point so low he tattooed Ian’s name on his chest and spelt it _wrong_. But, hey, now it was his last name, so he thinks he’s got the last laugh.

Mickey loved hard. He knew that. He also knew sometimes he loves too hard, especially when it came to Ian. Sometimes _only_ when it came to Ian. He can’t explain it. Can't explain the sheer need he has for him, can’t make sense of it, try as he might. And that’s probably part of the problem. He doesn’t use words, he uses actions, and it gets him into trouble.

Escaping federal prison might’ve been the dumbest thing he ever did for Ian’s sorry ass. He didn’t do it _only_ for Ian, and least that’s what he tells himself. Sure, being in the joint sucked ass, but it wasn’t anything he couldn’t handle. Being away from Ian, feeling _unloved_ , like Ian was moving on while he was just _stuck_ , that was something he couldn’t handle.

Ian leaving him at the border should’ve hurt more than the first time he broke his heart. It should’ve, but it didn’t. Mickey knew deep down Ian had a life, he had shit and stability that Mickey just couldn’t give him, not while being a fugitive. Didn’t mean it didn’t hurt. Didn’t mean he didn’t pull over 50 miles into Mexico and cry so hard he emptied his stomach on the side of a desert road.

He tried to move on. Everytime he tried to forget Ian, to throw himself into work and random illegal shit trying to just forget. He fooled around with a couple dudes, just to keep himself sane and distract himself. Then he heard about Ian doing crazy shit, making national fucking news blowing up a van.

And just like that he was wrapped back up in Ian. It was nerve wracking and absolutely insanely terrifying to snitch on a Mexican cartel that would have no problem chopping you up and dumping your body in the desert for the crows.

Again, Mickey was hopelessly in love, and once again, would do anything for Ian. He just hoped Ian would want him too.

And Mickey fucking did it. _They_ fucking did it. They made it to the finish line. Seeing Ian waiting for him in their cell was the second most beautiful thing he’d ever seen in his life.

Sure, sharing a shoe box jail cell wasn’t glamorous and took a little toll on them, but they were together. And, honestly, they’d survived worse shit.

The most beautiful thing Mickey had ever seen was Ian waiting for him at the altar. It was a vision Mickey never thought possible. Marriage. To Ian Gallagher, the love of his life since he was fourteen. It blows his mind, honestly, thinking back and remembering what they went through and where they are now.

He feels Ian stir, red hair tickling his collarbone, a yawn seeping from his husband's lips. He feels a heat pool in his belly and burst, watching as Ian uncrumpled himself from sleep.

“Hey,” Ian said, smiling lazily. The rasp in his voice making Mickey grin.

“Aye,” Mickey replied, leaning in gently and waiting for Ian to meet him in the middle for a kiss.

They kissed slowly for a few minutes, just taking each other in and savoring the moment. When they broke apart, Ian climbed on top of Mickey and slotted himself between his legs.

“You got a staring problem, firecrotch,” Mickey teased, hands going in Ian’s hair, scratching his scalp lightly.

“Yeah, well, I like looking at my husband. Got a problem with that?” Ian asked playfully, leaning down to bite Mickey’s chin. Ian was into that weird shit lately, biting Mickey randomly, never too hard, and it was honestly adorable, but Mickey always called him a dog. Ian said it was his love language, whatever the fuck that meant.

“Nah, no problems here, all good,” he chuckled and ruffled Ian’s red locks. “Love you,” he said gently, like it was a secret. It wasn’t, not anymore. He felt Ian’s heart thump against his. And, yeah, he’d say they made it past the finish line, with flying fucking colors.

And if Mickey could talk to his former self, to that scared little kid who thought he only had a future of crime and heartache, he’d tell him it’d all be okay. That even though he’s a Milkovich, it won’t stay that way. He’s not branded for life by his family’s shitty decisions and questionable history. He’s a _Gallagher_ now, and that means something. and To stop fucking worrying about it. Because if you love something, let it go. And if it comes back, it’s meant to be. And Ian came back to him. They came back to each other.

“I love you too,” Ian says sincerely, and it’s the most beautiful thing Mickey’s ever heard, every single time he hears it.

**Author's Note:**

> Gallavich are finally happy y’all. Keep a lookout for a Black & Yellow update! Find me on Twitter @positionswifts


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